


Motor City

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Actual Grand Theft Auto, Gen, Mercutio is a maniac, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:06:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of why Benvolio is afraid of motorcycles, and how Mercutio got his. (Also known as "that one time Mercutio stole a motorcycle and nearly got himself killed".)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motor City

“A _motorcycle?_ You’re kidding.”

Benvolio pressed a hand to his forehead. “Oh no.”

But Mercutio wasn’t finished. “Why does Tybalt get a motorcycle? _Tybalt_? I mean, how tremendously, fantastically, extravagantly-

“Feeling verbose this morning, are we?” Romeo quipped.

\- awe-inspiringly poor can your judgement be that you’d put someone like _that_ behind the wheel of a motorized power vehicle? It’s baffling; it’s infuriating.”

If you asked Benvolio, he’d say Mercutio was making a big deal out of nothing and that the only reason he was so upset was because he’d been asking his uncle for a motorbike for years. Tybalt, on his sixteenth birthday, had apparently found it easy to convince his aunt and uncle to award him such a gift; the Prince, meanwhile, was still quite sensibly denying all of Mercutio’s pleas for his own. Unfortunately, no one was asking Benvolio, and that left him and Romeo forced to bear witness to Mercutio’s impassioned rambling- which had been going on for the past five minutes.

“I mean, you don’t give Zeus Viagra, you don’t give Samson a pair of scissors, you _don’t_ give the guy with spectacular anger issues a motorcycle, _how_ is this a hard concept? By god, why does he of all people get a motorcycle? Where’s my motorcycle? When am I getting _my_ motorcycle? Huh?” Romeo let out a squeak when suddenly Mercutio grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him just inches away from his face. “ _I want my motorcycle, dammit_!”

“Mercutio! Heel.”

Mercutio pouted, but he obeyed Benvolio’s order as he released Romeo and flung himself back on the beanbag chair near the center of the room, scowling. “It’s not fair.”

Benvolio rolled his eyes, shutting his journal with a soft ‘thunk’ and casting it aside. “What does it matter? Hardly anyone has cars in Verona anyway. We just walk everywhere.”

“Exactly. Which is the reason I want a motorcycle!”

Romeo raised a hand, catching Mercutio’s baleful attention. “Umm, not saying that your uncle has a reason to keep you off of anything capable of going faster than 20 miles per hour,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure he does, and those reasons are good ones.”

Benvolio shrugged. “Yeah, I wouldn’t trust you on a motorcycle either. Sorry.”

Mercutio’s eyes flickered between his two friends, who gazed back at him with flat expressions; a look of betrayal took over his face that made Benvolio long to roll his eyes. “So,” he said quietly, rising to his feet and straightening his back. “It seems that you, too, have abandoned me.”

“Mercutio-”

“My very own bosom friends. My closest allies. I have held you to my chest, I have nursed you in the ways of the world-”

Romeo groaned loudly, recoiling. “What are you saying?”

“And this is how I am repaid?” In a few brisk strides, Mercutio had strode across the room and thrown the attic door open. “I am _repulsed_.”

This time, Benvolio really did roll his eyes. “Mercutio, I’m taking up bike riding. Why don’t you come with me? It might be fun.”

“It might be fun,” Mercutio mocked in a high pitched version of his own voice that frankly left Benvolio quite affronted. “Nice try, Ben,” he replied, tossing his head as if he were a supermodel flipping his hair before promptly striding down the attic stairs and vanishing from sight.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my motorcycle!"

Benvolio sighed, exchanging a glance with Romeo before shaking his head and picking up his journal again. This, he thought to himself, seemed like it could only end badly.

xXx

That Sunday, as promised, Benvolio had taken to the park with his bicycle. They really did walk around too much; true, the streets of Verona were not suited for cars and in fact very few people owned them, but it was still a bit obnoxious to have to walk twenty minutes to get to the supermarket. Bike riding, Benvolio deduced pragmatically, was thus the easiest- not to mention the safest- way to get to and from quickly.

The park was quiet today, even though on such a pleasant spring morning one would expect there to be more people out than there actually were. Still, it was an idyllic scene, Benvolio thought as he steadily pedaled down the paved path; children laughed and shrieked together in the grass, an old couple sat smiling on a bench, birds chirped, and in the distance the hum of an engine grew louder-

An engine?

“Ben!”

If the desperate exclamation from somewhere behind him that was accompanied by the steadily loudening roar of what could only be a motorcycle didn’t knock him clean off his bike, Mercutio suddenly pulling up right beside him certainly did. With a yelp, Benvolio tumbled sideways and landed hard on the ground; he barely had time to assess the fact that his head was still intact before he was suddenly being yanked upwards by forceful arms.

“Up you go, Benny, on your feet now, good boy,” Mercutio chirped, placing something over his head and patting Benvolio hard on the back before casting an anxious glance over his shoulder. “Now come with me if you want to live.”

Benvolio, however, was incredulous. “Mercutio, why the hell are you riding a motorcycle in a public park?!”

“Not just any motorcycle.” The golden-headed boy- his hair now covered by a motorcycle helmet- grinned wickedly. “Tybalt’s motorcycle.”

“You stole-” Benvolio ejected, so stunned that he didn’t even notice Mercutio steadily maneuvering him to sit on the back of the bike.

“Well, technically I didn’t steal it. It’s a rule of fair play, Ben- if someone hits you with their motorcycle, you get to take it for yourself.” Mercutio shrugged, like he hadn’t just basically committed grand theft auto, and revved the engine again. “And technically I didn’t even really steal it- see, I was walking, like a good, average citizen, when all of a sudden this bike nearly rams into me. I get knocked on my ass, Tybalt gets off all smug, and I may or may not have said something along the lines of nearly getting _“struck by the cherub’s flaming ass arrow,”-_ get it, like a Hell’s Angel? I’m hilarious; anyway, that freaked Tybalt out enough that I was able to jump on his bike and speed away before he realized what happened.” Mercutio cleared his throat. “See, the thing is though, apparently old Capulet used to have a bike of his own and he kept it around, meaning any minute now we might see Tybalt-”

The rev of another engine was becoming alarmingly audible in the distance. Benvolio’s heart missed a beat. _“Mercutio!”,_ came a livid roar, and said thief spun around as if he’d been jerked forward.

“Coming after us here, now. Hold on, Benny Boy!”

“Wait, Mer- _ohmygod_!” Benvolio’s words devolved into a shriek as his arms clamped around Mercutio’s waist, the bike weaving down the walk expertly. The sheer speed made Benvolio’s stomach lurch, and he felt certain that any minute now either Mercutio or Tybalt- who was hot on their tail- would crash into something irreparable, like a person. But Mercutio seemed surprisingly deft at handling his new craft; perhaps all those hours of playing video games and dreaming about a bike of his own had paid off after all. Even so, the park was pure chaos, and Benvolio’s heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

“Mercutio, maybe we should sto-”

“No chance!” shot back the blond, too focused on the road- or lack thereof- to even consider slowing down for a moment. The irate shout of _“Prepare to die, Mercutio_!” from behind them had gotten his blood pounding, and the adrenaline was already racing through his veins. Benvolio, meanwhile, found himself more concerned that they were _actually about to die._

In retrospect, bike riding might not have been the best idea he’d ever had.

xXx

In the end it took actually crashing the bike to get Mercutio off it, and Benvolio wound up going right with him. With both boys splayed out on the street, and the bike- remarkably undamaged, to Benvolio’s utmost relief- lying a few feet away, Tybalt was able to catch them easily; the Capulet looked murderous, but a few swift kicks to both Mercutio and Benvolio’s sides seemed to satisfy his violent inclinations, and he hastily took the bike back before Mercutio could get to his feet again.

And the next week, Mercutio had a motorcycle all of his own.

“I still don’t know how you did it,” Romeo remarked incredulously, shaking his head as the very proud Mercutio posed with his new prize.

“I’ve wanted a bike for far longer than I was able to steal one- in lieu of me swiping another, my uncle decided it safer just to get me one of my own.”

Benvolio tilted his head. “Your uncle isn’t very good with discipline, is he?”

“No, he is not.” Mercutio, pulling his helmet off of his head- he looked, Benvolio noted amusedly, as if he’d stuck his head in a dryer- scratched the back of his neck and chuckled a bit. “Though, actually… well… I don’t have the keys yet.”

Romeo tilted his head. Benvolio blinked.

“I did sort of steal a motorcycle.”

Benvolio decided in that moment that it would be much safer to just stick to walking.


End file.
